He suddenly broke away from her side and began walking quickly in the opposite direction, his head bent down, his arms swinging by his side. She ran after him and again took his arm, and looked into his face.
"You must not go away like this," she said, so firmly and with so much authority that he stood still. "You have only half explained the trouble to me, but I can help you. A debt of honour, you say—what will happen if you do not pay it?"
"I must die," answered the Count. "I could never respect myself again."
"You have borrowed this money of Fischelowitz and promised to pay it to-day? Is that it? Tell me."
"No—I never borrowed it. No, no—it was that villain, last winter, who gave him the Gigerl—"
"And Fischelowitz expects you to pay that!" cried Vjera, indignantly. "It is impossible."
"When I took the Gigerl away last night I promised to bring the fifty marks by to-night. I gave my word, my word as a gentleman, Vjera, which I cannot break—my word, as a gentleman," he repeated with something of his old dignity.
"It is monstrous that Fischelowitz should have taken such a promise," said Vjera.
"That does not alter the obligation," answered the Count proudly. "Besides, I gave it of my own accord. I did not wait for him to ask it, after his wife accused me of being the means of his losing the money."
"Oh, how could she be so heartless!" Vjera exclaimed.